


Inappropriate

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He can't go on doing this.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inappropriate

This has got to stop right now, Robbie tells himself, as rough on himself as he'd be with a murder suspect. He can't go on doing this. Tomorrow, he's going to see Innocent and tell her that he needs Hathaway reassigned to another inspector. And tonight...

He takes a deep breath, grits his teeth and picks up his phone again. Only willpower makes him delete the voicemail from James that he's played over and over in bed, night after night, behaving as he listened in a way that James never intended and would be disgusted if he knew. No matter that James knows nothing of what he's been doing, it's still abuse and breach of trust. 

The message is gone, and tomorrow James will be too. It's for the best.

* * *

James bursts into the office, as angry as Robbie has ever seen him. "What exactly were you hoping I'd do?"

Robbie stares at him, startled. "What?"

James's jaw works in that way it does when he is frustrated or upset about something. "You went directly to Innocent to ask me to be assigned to someone else. Did you think I'd be so devastated that I wouldn't fight this?"

"It's for the best," Robbie says quietly.

"For whom?" James demands. "Not for me. And I don't think you believe it's best for you." He leans over Robbie's desk, aggressive as if he were questioning a suspect. "So what exactly did I do that's so terrible you can't even discuss it with me?"

"It's nothing you did," Robbie says. 

James snorts in disbelief, shaking his head.

"It's not! It's me! I can't…" Robbie shakes his head. "I can't talk about this with you."

James straightens, his eyes like ice. "No. Clearly."

He’s angry, but that’s not all, Robbie sees as his sergeant — no, his _former_ sergeant — stares down at him. He’s feeling betrayed. Hardly surprising; they’ve been working together for six years now. 

They’ve spent, at times, up to twelve or more hours of the day together, working and at times relaxing over a drink or a meal. He’s confided in James sometimes, more than he’s ever confided in anyone other than Val, and James has very occasionally reciprocated. They’ve been there for each other in both work and personal crises. They’ve become friends.

Yes, he’s betrayed James and their friendship by doing this. But that’s nothing compared to the betrayal James knows nothing about, and that he’ll never know about if Robbie can help it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly but firmly. “My mind’s made up. Clear your desk, sergeant.”

James stares at him again, disbelief warring with hurt, and then he turns away, body rigid with the effort he’s making to control himself. 

Robbie can’t watch as James — no, Hathaway — removes all traces of himself from what was their shared office. He gets up and abruptly leaves the room. He won’t come back until Hathaway’s gone.

* * *

It's been a long, long time since Robbie has got this drunk. But it's the only thing that stops him thinking about the expression on James's face… the look in his eyes. And even drunk, when he closes his eyes, Robbie can still see it. What has he done? What the hell has he done?

The knock on his door comes far too late to be related to any type of good news. Robbie stands and carefully wobbles his way to the front door, pitching against the doorframe as he opens the door to whoever stands outside.

It's James.

"I need a reason," James says. Apparently he's sober.

Robbie can feel tears prickling his eyes. "You hate me now."

James starts. "What?"

Robbie nods. "You do. You hate me."

"I don't hate you," James says, bewildered. "I just don't understand."

"No," Robbie says. "If you did, you'd hate me more." He nods and almost loses his balance. "I deserve it."

"You're plastered," James says in some amazement.

"You," Robbie says, "will be a DCI in no time. And nobody will be happier than me."

"Than I," James says.

Robbie makes a quiet sound of distress. "I'm going to miss you doing that."

“Then why—? Why the fuck—” James pushes past him and stands in the middle of his living—room, shaking his head. “No. I said I wouldn’t shout or lose control. Please, sir, just give me one reason I can accept.”

Robbie hangs his head. “I can’t tell you. I... can’t. I’m sorry, man.”

James’s shoulders slump, but he takes a deep breath. “If it’s something I’ve done, or... if you’ve just got fed up with me being a bloody cleverclogs all the time, please just tell me. It won’t make any difference to what I do, but I _need_ to know. Please.”

Frowning, Robbie asks, “What d’you mean, what you do?”

Like a puppet whose strings have been cut, James slumps into the armchair. “I’m resigning, sir. So it won’t make any difference, except that I won’t be lying awake every night wondering what the _fuck_ I did to you to make you throw me away like this, like... like last week’s stinking rubbish.”

"No." Robbie feels a shudder run through him. "No, you… you can't resign. You're brilliant at this work. That's… that's why I stepped aside… because I didn't want you to go."

James frowns at him. "You got rid of me because you _didn't_ want me to go?"

Robbie staggers his way to the sofa and still almost misses it when he plops down on the cushions, facing James. "You can't resign. You can't. Please. I did this to help you."

"Help me?" James sounds bitter again. "You think letting me go without any explanation is helping me?"

"It is helping you," Robbie whispers. "Because you won't have to put up with me any longer."

James is gaping at him. "I don't understand how you could possibly… since when have I ever given you the impression that I was 'putting up' with you?"

"No, not yet," Robbie says. "But you would have if you'd stayed. I promised myself I would never let that happen."

James is silent for a long time. "Sir… are you ill? Is that why you… are you trying to get rid of me before whatever's happening to you takes its course?"

“No.” He turns away. Christ, he should never have let James in tonight. Question after question — but what’s worse is that James is genuinely hurt, and genuinely worried. Which he never intended to happen. Damn it, he did this so James _wouldn’t_ be hurt.

He could throw the bloke out. Just order him to leave. Tell him he doesn’t want him coming around any more and that’s an end to it. But something about the way James is behaving over this is telling Robbie, even in his very slightly befuddled state, that the bloody bloke is going to argue if he tries it, isn’t he?

And if he does try to order James out, it’s going to hurt the lad even more, and that’s the last thing Robbie wants, even if it is for his own good. The way James looked earlier, in the office... it’d felt like he was ripping his own heart out.

There’s only one way around it, isn’t there? Tell the bloke the truth. He’ll be disgusted, of course, and he’ll want nothing to do with Robbie ever again — but that’s the solution right there. James will accept the transfer and go on to great things under his new governor, and he’ll be all right.

He looks back at James, who’s — Christ, he’s looking at Robbie as if he’s worried sick. And after what Robbie’s done to him, too. 

“I don’t want to work with you any more. Can’t. And since you ins... insist on knowing why, then... all right. I’ve been... thinking inapa... inappropriate thoughts. About you.”

For a moment, James just stares at Robbie blankly.

Robbie can't meet his eyes any longer, and stares at the floor. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I'm… James, listen, I'm… I'm really…"

"That's all?"

Robbie lifts his head, startled. "I don'… don' understand."

"You wanted me to work for someone else because you were having inappropriate thoughts?" James sounds disbelieving.

Among other things, Robbie thinks but doesn't say. "It's not fair to you," he mumbles. "It's a power difference. Different… something. I'm the senior officer. It's not appropriate for me to be… to be thinking things. About you."

"That doesn't bother me," James says.

"Of course it does," Robbie says, waving a sloppy hand in James's direction. "You don't unnerstand yet. But you will. And be degust. Disgusted."

“Try me.” That’s a challenge; even in his current state, Robbie can recognise that. More important, his strategy hasn’t worked yet. So he’s going to have to confess the rest.

“Wasn’t just thoughts.”

“What do you mean?”

Aha, not sounding so sure of himself now, is he? Robbie stares down at his lap.“Things. Inapp... things. With your voice. On my phone.”

Silence. That’s done the trick, then. James’ll be on his way any minute. The only risk is that he might go straight to Innocent in the morning and make a complaint.

“Sorry, sir, but I really have no idea what you’re talking about. Your phone and... my voice? Could you be more specific, please?”

Robbie tries to smother a groan. “Y’re not that thick, serg— You know what I mean. Listened, didn’t I? While I... thought about... stuff. Doing things. With you.”

"You were fantasizing about me while you were talking with me on the phone?" 

James is trying to pry an explanation out of Robbie. Robbie might be a match for his sergeant's… his former sergeant's… interrogative skills when he's at full capacity, but he is most assuredly not at full capacity now. James will have his information. And it will be the end of their friendship, if that hasn't already been completely smashed to bits.

"Voicemail," Robbie manages. He wants to shrivel up and disappear. James should understand by now. He should. Only he's choosing not to. Robbie doesn't blame him. He caused James a lot of trouble at work today; he's earned the trouble James is choosing to cause him.

"You listened to voicemails I left you and fantasized about doing things with me. Playing Parcheesi?" 

"Being intimate!" Robbie says, arms crossed in front of his chest now as though they were some sort of barrier against embarrassment or pain or who knows what else. "I wanted you to… to touch me. To be with me." He hangs his head. James probably thinks he's a joke… a filthy-minded old man lusting after a younger one. A lech. "I'm sorry… please…"

There’s another pause. So that’s it — this time he really has managed to push James away.

“Please what?” And what the hell—? The bloke’s voice has dropped. A lot. He sounds like... What is it he’s remembering? Something about James and a... Christ, that’s it. The sex line. “Please touch you? Please kiss you?”

Robbie squirms with embarrassment. He deserves it, but he never imagined James would mock him.

“Told you, I’m sorry,” he mutters.

There’s a rustle, and the sound of light footsteps. “I’m not,” James says, and suddenly he’s sitting on the sofa beside Robbie, a hand reaching to touch the side of Robbie’s face. “Is that what you want me to do?”

"Yeah," Robbie whispers. 

Probably James is only doing this to confirm how awful he is… how inappropriate the things he wants are… but Robbie can't help reacting to the touch on his face, eyelids lowering, breaths quickening. And this isn't even a sexual touch… not like the most intimate things he's imagined… but it's more than he thought he'd have.

_I have to remember this,_ Robbie tells himself. Being drunk is most definitely a mixed blessing. On one hand, he would never have been able to tell James the truth sober. On the other hand, Robbie is afraid that he'll forget what it feels like to have James's gentle hand on his cheek, to feel those fingers calloused from guitar strings brush against his skin.

James leans in so his face is close to Robbie's. "And now? Now what do you want?"

Bloody hell. If James can't work it out, he's no detective at all.

Robbie stares at James, torn between hope and fear. "I don't understand," he whispers.

“Idiot,” James whispers, and kisses him.

* * *

“And do you like it when I touch you here?” James’s hand drifts down the front of his shirt, finds a gap between the buttons and slides through, stroking Robbie’s chest. He shivers. “Ah, you do. That’s good. That’s _very_ good.”

James has barely stopped talking in the minutes since he first kissed Robbie. He’s narrating, isn’t he — every touch, every kiss, every movement closer, his voice is rumbling in Robbie’s ear, low and husky, even better than on the phone message, and turning Robbie on more with every syllable.

“You keep that up, lad, an’ you’ll get more than you bargained for,” he says without thinking, then curses silently at his thoughtlessness. How does he know what James actually wants? Is it even possible that he’s doing this out of... Christ, pity?

“Not possible,” James practically growls. “Haven’t you realised yet?”

“Realised what?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been having inappropriate thoughts, Robbie Lewis.” James straddles his lap and his lips find his again, and this time the kiss is positively _filthy_.

* * *

The next morning, James is already up and making coffee for both of them when Robbie shuffles into the kitchen. James turns and gives Robbie an unrepentant grin. "Morning."

"Ungh," Robbie answers. The combination of lack of coffee and hangover does dire things to his mental agility.

James chuckles quietly. "Coffee?"

"Ungh," Robbie says, nodding this time.

When James brings him the coffee, he lets his hand linger on Robbie's when Robbie takes the mug. Robbie feels unaccountably shy this morning, as he did the morning after he and Val first slept together. He's never been the world's most verbose man, but the aftermath of sex leaves him tongue-tied and nervous. He sips his coffee.

"So," James says, still grinning, "last night."

Robbie looks at him and braves a smile. "Yeah." He pauses. "You're not… not really going to resign, are you?"

"I suppose," James says, "if I can have you in bed, someone else can have you in the office."

"No one's having me anywhere but you," Robbie grumbles. "You understand… it's not that I wanted to let you go."

James nods. "Yes. I understand that now."

He sips his coffee, feeling his head clear a bit more. “So, if I can persuade Innocent to ignore everything I said to her yesterday, would you come back an’ work with me again?”

“Of course I would,” James says instantly. “But what could you possibly say to Innocent to make that happen? I mean, you were obviously pretty insistent yesterday.”

He shrugs. “I’ll just tell her I’d taken leave of me senses. That’ll have to do.”

A smile hovers around James’s lips. “You could tell her I threatened to resign if you didn’t take me back.”

Robbie shudders. “No, thanks. Besides, I don’t want her thinking I’m asking under sufferance. I want you back, and I want her to know that.”

“You want me in a lot of places,” James points out, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Yes, and I am _not_ telling her that.”

James shudders theatrically. “Christ, no. I promise to be suitably respectful at work, sir. No inappropriate remarks, or anything else inappropriate.”

“You’d better.” And Robbie’s going to have a long list of things to avoid at work, including James speaking to him in just _that_ tone of voice. 

Mind, they’re not at work yet, are they?

“C’mere,” he growls, and proceeds to give James a very practical demonstration of several inappropriate things. Just so the lad knows to avoid them at work, that’s all.

* * *


End file.
